T. Hakola-words & music, vocals, guitars, piano
Laureline Prod'homme-bass, Zoé Hochberg-drums

NEVER BOUGHT A BOTTLE OF WATER

I’m ashamed to say I shot a bird as a kid just to see if I could
and they had me believing God outdid any Zorro, Cochise or Robin Hood
I even tried to like the Beach Boys to fit in in our neighborhood
But I hated The Smiths from the outset
so you know my ears were pretty good

Never did much for my goddaughter, and rarely see my niece
But I never bought a bottle of water... except maybe once in Greece

I never ever paid for sex, but confess I bought a Playboy way back when
for the interview with Marlon Brando – that’s what I told myself then
Alone and forsaken at twenty-one, a hick in New York oh so low-income
In no way missed by any beloved one, as unkissed as a dutiful nun

Rarely cutting my hair, I looked a lot less than fantastic
But I never paid for water there, not in glass or in plastic

When punk came around, I thought I was above it
and got to the party late
Saving the world or caught up in survival,
I almost sidestepped my fate
But it soon had me tearing up Bibles, the enemy better to bait
And brushing my teeth with vodka, the longing better to sate

Called my second combo Passion Fodder,
was a wannabe poet desperado
But I never ever bought a bottle of water...
except maybe once in Morocco

I avoid red meat but eat piles of chicken
and much too much ice cream
And can’t stop believing that socialism
will still reclaim the American dream
And a Republican creep – pardon my pleonasm –
owning my favorite team
can’t stop me whenever the Cubs win,
from having for joy to scream

Oh, I’ve killed and eaten tons of trout,
abused and released so many more
And I once bought heroin for an old friend visiting
(she wanted to explore)
‘Twas thus that I did aid an evil trade (and that girl threw up on the floor)
But I’ve never bought a bottle of water on a street, in a bar, or a store
Well, not in France, where the tap water’s fine
and the wine ever unbeaten
And I didn’t need Assange to toe the Trump line,
to know he was always a cretin

So despite all there is to blame in this litany of mistakes
I claim all the same to deserve a few breaks
I’m not asking for a medal or expecting a plaque
Just that you kindly cut me, cut me some slack

For I’ve spared the world my spawn, will leave it no offspring
to amplify my carbon contribution to the terracidal silent spring
And except for one time in Tangier when there wasn’t any beer...